Opportunities
by Amanda Kitswell
Summary: The decomposed body of a woman is found in a field outside of Washington, D.C., and Agent Seeley Booth and Dr. Temperance Brennan are called to investigate. Will this investigation reveal more than just the killer for these driven partners? Booth/Brennan
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Greg Sanders, for he belongs to _CSI_. I don't own Humphrey Bogart, _Casablanca_, or_ As Time Goes By_, and I'm pretty sure I don't own _Bones_ either... Nope, don't own _Bones._**

**This was an entry for a project over at TalkCSI, and I decided to edit it, rewrite a couple of things, make it better, then post it here. It's a slight crossover between _Bones_ and _CSI_, but not enough to worry about calling it a real crossover. I'm only borrowing Greg for a bit.**

**Anyhow, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter... yes, I mean chapter. This is going to be an attempt at a chapter story. You get to suffer through the writer's block with me, too. I have a couple chapters written, but I'm not gonna post until I'm absolutely sure they're ready for posting. _Bones_ is a complicated show to write for, so bear with me as I delve into the mind of Seeley Booth in the chapters to come. For now, enjoy my OC, Janelle.**

* * *

Janelle was perched on a bench outside _Giovinazzo's_ - the restaurant her boyfriend had told her to meet him at - looking around at the couples walking in and out through the double doors. Anticipating the dress code for this particular restaurant, her hair was pulled up high on her head into a tight bun, curled tendrils of cocoa hair framing her face. The dress she wore clung tight to her torso, but flowed off her hips in a wave of scarlet, ending just above milky white knees in a black lace trim. Her shoulders supported straps – similar in material to that of the trim – that intersected at the middle back and ended at the opposite hips. Thin black strips crisscrossed above her toes and wrapped around her ankles, holding the four inch stilettos firmly to her size seven feet, which were small, considering her five foot six stature. Looking herself up and down in a self-conscious reflex, she smiled. She looked damn good in the dress, and she knew it. That's why it was her favorite dress, as well as Greg's. Thankfully, tonight was considerably warmer than the previous few nights, making it possible for her to wear it. The weather in D.C. was becoming insufferable.

As she turned away from the restaurant's entrance, she reverted back to the suspicions that were plaguing her since she learned where they were to meet. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Greg to take her out on her birthday, but normally it was a picnic in the park or manicotti at her favorite diner. But it was never a trip to such an extravagant restaurant. The ornate carvings on the door were that of the restaurant's logo: a swirling 'G' wrapping itself delicately around the stem of a wine glass. The intricate carvings had her in awe, and it took an effort to tear her gaze away. Whatever it was her boyfriend was planning, she couldn't figure it out.

Forcing her gaze to stay off the doors, she reached into her purse for her cell phone in order to check the time. It was still thirty minutes until Greg would arrive, which is what she had been hoping. She would be where she needed to be at least forty five minutes early, and bring a book to keep herself occupied. She lifted her latest novel of choice from her bag and ran her fingers over the cover. It was the latest novel by Dr. Temperance Brennan, a book that she had been anticipating since finishing the last one. For years she had been looking for books that would challenge her mind and make her think. She found it in the series of novels based around the life of Kathy Reichs. She loved them, and always wondered if it would've been possible for her to pursue a career in forensic anthropology. She opened to the place marked by a thin black ribbon (taken from ballet flats that she had long since grown out of) and began reading. She turned page after page, absorbing each new plot twist and moving on to the next.

Enthralled in the novel, she turned yet another page, eager to learn what was going to happen. When a hand brushed gently against her shoulder, a jolt of surprise bolted up and down her spine. An involuntary jerk of her back sent her book tumbling to the sidewalk.

"Merda!" she all but shouted as she bent over to retrieve her fallen paperback. She heard Greg chuckling, and she knew it was at her Italian expletive. Apparently he loved it when she swore in Italian. "Gregory Hojem Sanders, don't you know better than to sneak up on a woman while she's reading?" She looked up, giving him a playful grin to show she was only kidding.

"I couldn't help myself, Ella. You make it so easy," he teased, giving her a goofy grin. She felt a blush begin to creep into her cheeks, and inwardly chastised herself. Three years, and she still blushed when he flirted with her. Searching the book for the place she had recently lost, she placed the ribbon back inside when it was located. She placed it in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Sliding to the edge of the bench, she spotted Greg's outstretched hand and accepted it graciously.

She stood carefully, making sure she was completely balanced before she considered letting go of his hand. When she was comfortable, she attempted to tug her hand free, but he only gripped it tighter before he pulled her to him, his arms moving to wrap around her waist. She grasped his shoulders to keep herself steady before she looked up at him. Her quiet laughter was muffled by his lips connecting with hers. Closing her eyes, she snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him just the smallest fraction closer. Her mind flitted with memories of their first kiss, which happened to be her actual first kiss. Despite her inexperience, and the inevitable (and painful) Eskimo kiss, Greg had been nothing but sweet. He was unbelievably patient, and soon the kisses felt more natural – more perfect. She knew she wasn't the best at it, but she couldn't see herself kissing anyone else, either.

Pulling away slowly, she opened her eyes to a flustered Greg Sanders, his eyes revealing something completely new and unfamiliar to her. "What is it, innamorato?"

"You're amazing, you know that?" She smiled, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach and the heat rising in her cheeks. She placed a soft kiss to his lips before she stepped out of his embrace.

Jutting out an elbow, he gave her a half grin. He was undoubtedly preparing one of his impressions of a character form the movies they loved watching together. "Shall we, sweetheart?" he said, his voice similar to that of her favorite actor, Humphrey Bogart. Nodding, she laced her arm with his and strode alongside him into the restaurant.

* * *

The meal was unbelievable (though nothing compared to Nonna Ori's cooking) and went off without a hitch. However, with each passing moment, Greg seemed to gradually get more nervous, until he was checking his watch every few minutes and looking around the room. He was acting paranoid, as if anticipating a pending disaster.

The sounds of violins, cellos, and a stand-up bass being tuned seemed to shut off whatever pipeline was feeding him the extra adrenaline, and his fidgeting ceased completely. His eyes shifted from her to something by the podium, and she turned to follow his gaze. A man in a tailored suit was stepping onto the podium in front of the bandstand, standing directly in front of a microphone stand.

_You must remember this  
A kiss is still a kiss  
A sigh is just a sigh  
The fundamental things apply  
As time goes by_

As the strings joined the pianist and singer in the song, she forced herself to turn back to her boyfriend, sure of the awestruck look that must have been plastered on her face. When her gaze returned to him, he was fiddling with a small box gripped between his fingers.

_And when two lovers woo  
They still say, "I love you"  
On that you can rely  
No matter what the future brings  
As time goes by_

Watching his fingers gently rotate the box, her eyes began to sting with the threat of tears. His lips parting, as if preparing to speak, drew her attention away from the box. When she looked into his eyes, she saw a look she hadn't seen since their first date.

_Moonlight and love songs  
Never out of date  
Hearts full of passion  
Jealousy and hate  
Woman needs man  
And man must have his mate  
That, no one can deny  
It's still the same old story  
A fight for love and glory  
A case of do or die  
The world will always welcome lovers  
As time goes by_

It seemed as if his face had frozen in the position of preparing for speech, and anxiety was taking over her. She had a clear idea of what he was going to ask her. She became suspicious after his earlier impression of her favorite actor. But followed by her favorite song from her favorite movie? The movie her favorite actor was in? That cinched it. Instead of confronting him, though, she decided to wait out his nerve induced coma so he could ask her himself.

_It's still the same old story  
A fight for love and glory  
A case of do or die__  
The world will always welcome lovers  
As time goes by_

As the piano faded out, followed by the strings, she became increasingly worried that he had lost his nerve. She gave him the most reassuring smile she was capable of, the tears stinging her eyes becoming nearly impossible to hold back.

Finally, he began to blink himself from his reverie, giving her the goofy smile that was unique only to him. Her smile wavered and fell, leaving a frown pulling at her own lips. Not out of sadness, but out of nerves.

"Ella," he began, reaching across the table to take her hand, "I love you more than you could ever imagine. You've been there for me when I thought I'd be left to fight alone. You…" He took a deep breath, and she could only assume it was because he was about to start rambling. His smile faltered, and a nervous expression took over his face. "If I don't spit this out now, I don't think I'll ever be able to." She smiled, trying to comfort him while silently urging him on. He opened the box with his one free hand, revealing a white gold band with a teardrop diamond in the center. Four, much smaller diamonds lined the band on each side of the main diamond.

She tore her eyes from the ring, the warm, wet sensation of tears trickling down her cheeks barely registering as she met his eyes. "Janelle Ilaria Robustelli, will you marry me?"

She let out a choked sob that sounded almost like a laugh as she nodded her head fervently. "Yes," she said through hiccup-like sobs. His eyes lit up, the goofy grin returning to his face infinitely wider than before. She continued to cry as he removed the ring from the box and carefully slipped it onto her finger.

She stood quickly, her heart rate racing a mile a minute, the tears still streaming down her cheeks in a thin line. Greg followed suit, never letting go of her hand. He pulled her to him gently, wrapping his arms around her waist as he leaned in, meeting her lips with a passion she had never felt before. Her arms wrapped around his neck once more, and she held tight, never wanting to let go. His grip suddenly tightened around her, and she yelped audibly as he lifted her off the ground and spun in place, twirling her around with him.

She met his lips again in another loving kiss, blushing furiously as she began to hear the quiet applause from the other patrons in the restaurant. Despite her self-consciousness, she deepened the kiss, too happy to let any of her self-doubts get in the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Bones_, or its characters. I do not own _Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_, or its characters, either. I wish I did, because then I'd be Mrs. Jack Sparrow... kidding. I'd've just had my way with him! (kidding)**

**Alright, this chapter is short, I know. But, I've decided that it's easier to write it this way. Short chapters seem to make chapter stories easier to write, so I'm going to stick with it. A long chapter here and there isn't out of the question, however. I hope y'all enjoy this one!**

* * *

His gaze fell on himself, reflected in the mirror across from the bar. He hated that mirror. He could swear it had some kind of divine power, because it seemed to read into his soul. He'd learned things about himself from that mirror that he never saw coming. In fact, he learned a new tidbit of information every time he came to this bar. And every time, he feigned ignorance and moved on.

However, just before Christmas, he had been hit with an unsettling revelation: this one impossible to ignore. Looking for answers, he came to this very bar (yes, he actually consulted the 'magic mirror') because nothing else was helping this make sense to him. One brief, hesitant, and almost fleeting glance into that mirror told him why that kiss felt like more than just one between friends: because he felt something that went beyond friendship when it came to her. He knew he cared for Bones, but his mind had offered him not a single clue, up until that moment, as to how deep those feelings ran.

But as he stared in the mirror tonight, three months after the fact, he frowned at what he saw. It seemed as if his entire aura was radiating defeat. And to think, he hadn't even confronted her about his feelings for her yet. So why in God's name did he already look like he had been rejected? He wracked his brain for any explanation, but his brain was wet cotton in the dark lighting of the bar. Trying to clear his head, he looked back into the eyes of his reflection.

Bad idea.

Glaring at the man he saw across from him, he downed the last of his whiskey and stood from the stool he had been propped on for hours that night. Throwing a twenty on the bar, he turned and wove his way through the mass of people that crowded the bar that night. He slipped out the door and into the cool March air of Washington, D.C., hurrying to his car in a flash of determination that had him baffled. However clueless he was to his destination as he revved the engine and threw it into gear, his mind would not be dissuaded. Letting his brain drift into cruise control, he focused on the road, following traffic laws in an unconsciously memorized pattern.

When he was finally behind the wheel of his own mind once again, he became momentarily confused by the unfamiliar surroundings – that is, until he saw her apartment building. Pulling into the parking lot, he found the closest parking space available and maneuvered his car into it. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he fought to clear his mind. There was no reason for his mind to be racing at the rate it was, or to be as cloudy. He hadn't had more than two drinks, and they had both stretched the span of his four hour stint at the bar. There was no possible way that he was drunk.

He lifted his hands to his temples, gently rubbing away the fog that was blurring his thoughts. Despite the clarity, Booth was still left without a reason for his visit. Perhaps he was here to tell her how he felt, but at this point, he was not quite sure. He never really thought himself a coward, and tried to be as open with Bones as possible, but this sudden trepidation unnerved him. He knew it wasn't unfounded, but that didn't stop him from reeling at the thought of telling her. She made it very clear to him over the years that love was not an emotion that she chose to recognize. With that thought, he found himself reigniting the engine and backing out of the spot.

He had never been one to run away from his feelings – he had never even considered it before. But when Temperance Brennan came into the picture, he was completely lost. Sometimes he didn't even know where he stood with her in their friendship. She had always distanced herself from him when her emotions threatened to take over, and she had only just recently begun to trust him with anything that resembled real feelings. It killed him, knowing that this incredible woman was hurting, and was still too afraid to fully confront any form of concrete emotion. As her father's trial began to show on the horizon, she started acting the slightest bit more vulnerable. Knowing this, he would feel like he was taking advantage of her, anyway. The timing just wasn't right. As much as he wanted to tell her right at that very moment how deeply he cared for her, he just couldn't risk damaging the progress they were making. And he had a pretty good idea that it would probably end in rejection as well.

As he pulled to a stop at a red light, his mind began to wander, and he began drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. The beat he created brought him back to his most recent visit with his son. Parker had been sick, putting off their plans of seeing a movie at the theater. To ease his disappointment, he decided to rent a movie. Pirates of the Caribbean seemed like a safe choice, due to his son's recent fascination with the swashbuckling lifestyle. He wasn't too fond of the idea that it was a Disney movie, but Johnny Depp was a decent actor, so it couldn't be too terrible. Parker had watched intently, refusing to look away from the screen. He exclaimed at how cool the cursed pirates were during the movie, and afterwards he entertained his father with reenactments of the fight scenes, temporarily forgetting about his cold.

He had to admit the movie had been decent enough (though he wished he had known the rating _wasn't_ the usual Disney rating). But now, since his revelation, something plagued his thoughts night and day. Something Jack had said during the movie had imprinted itself on his mind, a tattoo that remained forever in metaphorical existence. As he thought about it now, it only seemed to validate his decision to wait. To wait until the timing was right.

He would wait for the opportune moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Bones related. I guess I own the goofy photographer, but I don't think he's that important. But he's mine, you can't have him! protects**

**I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I just had a hard time finishing it all this week with some crazy real life drama that I've had to deal with. I love this story too much to give up on it though, so you don't have to worry about that. Love you guys for reading.**

**To those who have reviewed so far, thank you so much. You guys keep me going. It means a lot to me to see that people are taking the time to enjoy my story. Thanks so much. I won't let you guys down, I promise.**

* * *

Booth could have done without the eight a.m. wake up call the following morning. Tossing and turning for the better part of the night, it was all in a futile attempt to shake all thoughts of her from his mind. By four, he had simply passed out from exhaustion. But, once again, duty called, and after four hours of unsatisfying sleep, he had rolled out of bed and stumbled through his usual morning routine. If he didn't already believe in God, he would have been convinced by the sheer fact that he made it to the crime scene without killing himself or someone else. As he shut his car door behind him and walked towards the officers on scene, his thoughts drifted to the night before. He decided he would just have to ignore his feelings for the time being, otherwise professionalism would be next to impossible.

He flashed his badge, ducking under the crime scene tape as the officers stepped aside. He walked only two feet before his nose was met with the fetid stench of rotting flesh. He had become accustomed to it over the years he had been working with Bones, but that did _not_ mean he was always able to stomach it. It took everything he had in him not to vomit every time he was around a decomp. However, that seemed less difficult as time went on.

As the stench hit its peak, he spotted his partner already bent over the body in a crouching position. He admired her ability to be at the top of her game so early in the day. She never acted grouchy, and never showed the slightest bit of contempt for being pulled out of bed at such an ungodly hour. It was her determination that fascinated him: mainly because it was the most emotion he saw in her. She may not be able to show emotion well, but he knew she cared about the victims and would do whatever it took to find out who killed them.

What irked him was that she didn't care whose way she blocked. That included his. But, in the end, it always worked out for the good guys. That's what made it obvious that they were the perfect team.

"Bones. What've we got?" he asked as he approached her. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, the bun she wore resting on her shoulder.

"Body is in the final stages of decomposition. Death happened near the end of last summer or at the beginning of winter thaw. We'll know for sure once Hodgins takes a look at the pupae casings I found on the corpse."

Shuddering at the mention of bugs, he let his gaze wander. Suddenly, a metallic glint caught his eye. He turned his attention to the decaying flesh of the victim's hand and his breath caught in his throat. "Christ," he muttered.

"What was that?" he heard her ask. Tearing his gaze from the hand, he was met with an intense, questioning gaze. She had an eyebrow raised, her blue eyes glimmering with the morning sun.

And the object that caused his heart to freeze over.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked with a downtrodden tone. He indicated the object with a slightly vibrating index finger. He watched as she turned to the body again, following the trajectory of his shaking phalanges.

Reaching over to the victim's left hand, she lifted it and leaned in closer. "It looks to be a diamond," she said, her voice flat with her cold, scientific analysis. Then, suddenly, her back went rigid. He could feel the cold chill emanating from her, and he feared she had frozen in the crouched position, her heels digging into the dirt.

"Bones?"

"It's an engagement ring." He nearly shivered at the icy chill lacing her voice. She placed the hand gently back to the victim's side and stood. Her frame remained tense, and he was suddenly worried that she was holding something back.

She walked over to a man with a camera, her face remaining hidden. She seemed to be refusing him eye contact. The photographer gave her a goofy grin. "Yes, Dr. Brennan."

"I'm through with my initial analysis. Take more detailed shots of the left hand, particularly the ring. Leave it on, though. I'll have my team remove it before boiling." As he finally caught a glimpse of her face, he noticed it was blank. He had to admit that she would have one hell of a poker face, if he could ever convince her to play. But right now, it was eerily blank. Not a single emotion that he was sure was assaulting her was betrayed in her face. Still, he hadn't seen her eyes.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

The photographer nodded solemnly and brushed past her, setting to the assigned task immediately. Without warning, she started walking away from the body. The faux professionalism flooded from her in waves, momentarily locking him in place. Her arm brushing against his sent a wave of heat throughout his body that jumpstarted his brain. Turning on his heels, he found himself immediately falling into step with her.

Placing a hand on the small of her back, he held the crime scene tape up as they both ducked under it. He looked around, spotting her car parked on the opposite side of the road. They walked to her car silently, and she pulled her keys from her pocket as they approached. She opened the door, and he held it as she slid in.

"You O.K., Bones?" he asked, the friendly tone he used with her tangling itself effortlessly with his voice.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" she asked defensively. Her eyes were saying she was anything but, but he decided to let it go.

"Never mind." He smiled, comforting her the only way he knew how. "See you at the lab?"

"Yeah." She started the car, and he shut the door with one light push.

Walking over to his own car, he took his position in the driver's seat and rested his head against the steering wheel in a similar position to the night before. Sighing, he whispered to himself, "This is going to be a long day."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Sorry for the long delay, everyone. I have been working nonstop for the past four weeks, and have only just gotten the chance to write. And the inspiration. You know the drill, I don't own it. I love borrowing them, though. Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
_**

* * *

Booth climbed the steps to the examination tables silently, well aware of the young man standing with his back to him. "Hey, Zack," he said loudly, causing Zack to jump.

A clang of metal and dull thud on the surface of the table caused Booth to flinch, but the look on the anthropologist's face surprised him into a dropped jaw. "Agent Booth, was scaring me while I was holding a femur and scalpel entirely necessary?" For a millisecond, Booth was embarrassed, but was able to bury the feeling in his subconscious.

He smiled at the young man in front of him, receiving a barely noticeable eye roll in return. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that your eyes could get stuck like that?" he teased.

Watching as Zack rolled his eyes once more, he had to force back the laugh that threatened to escape his throat. "I don't have time to explain why it's physically impossible for one's eyes to get stuck in a position solely because they repeated an action multiple times."

"Whatever, Kid." Booth chuckled quietly as Zack turned around. "Where's Bones?" he asked as he walked up beside the other man.

He inwardly cringed as Zack teased flesh from bone with the scalpel. "She was in her office last time I spoke to her."

Booth turned away from the morbid sight and climbed down the steps, the image now burned into his retinas. He made his way to his partner's office, silently wondering why she wasn't already analyzing the skeleton from the scene.

Approaching the office door, he knocked on the doorjamb to avoid frightening her. With Zack it was funny, but with Bones, it was playing with fire.

"Hey, Bones," he said, watching as she continued to focus her attention on the computer screen in front of her, completely ignoring him. "Bones?" he questioned, somewhat hurt by her actions.

She held up her left hand in a 'hold on' gesture as her right continued to furiously attack the keyboard. She moved her left back to the keys to resume typing and continued for a few moments, her face devoid of expression.

Without warning, her fingers stopped stabbing at the keys, and she was still. The expressionless look continued to reign over her face, and it was then that Booth realized what she was doing: writing. He had been there once before when inspiration hit her mid-shift. She left Zack to finish analyzing a trauma wound on a skull and hurried to her office. She had disappeared for over thirty minutes. When she returned, her face was flushed, as if she had run a marathon. He always wondered what she had written about, but decided to let it go. She never gave spoilers.

When a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, he took it as his cue to speak. "Done?"

She nodded silently and looked up at him. "Yes. In fact, I finished chapter fifteen."

"Congrats." He stayed silent for a few moments, distracted by her soft smile. He hated how easy it was to get caught up in such a simple facial expression when it came to her, and he chastised himself as he met her eyes once again. "So have you found anything new on our lady in the field?"

"I have Zack cleaning the bones, and Angela is taking a look at the skull. She said she would have a face for us sometime this morning."

"What about the bugs?" he asked as he moved over to the couch and collapsed onto it, his body still waking up.

"Jack has a doctor's appointment. He won't be in until noonish." Booth turned his head to see a grinning Angela Montenegro standing in the doorway, a sketchpad held to her chest by crossed arms. "I have your girl right here," she said, tapping the pad with her left index finger.

He stood quickly, as did his partner. He moved in front of Angela as she turned to hold out her drawing. "I gave her brown eyes, because they stand out better," Angela explained, her voice soft and filled with emotion. "I also gave her brown hair, because it seemed to look better with her bone structure."

"This is very good, Angela," Bones said, her voice unaffected by any emotion she may have been feeling at that moment. Booth looked over at her, and though he could only see her profile, he could see the hidden pain in her features.

"Dr. Brennan?" The three of them looked to the doorway in response to Zack's query. "I found something."

* * *

"What is it?" Booth asked, still unsure of what the two anthropologists were talking about. He looked over to Angela, who looked just as confused as he believed he did.

"It's a lumbar disc replacement," Bones said in a tone that suggested this was a major find. "It's a fairly rare treatment in the United States for lower back pain." She turned the metal disc in her hands carefully. "When excessive wearing at the spinal disc occurs, some patients choose to have an implant put in to replace the damaged disc. This is exactly what our victim did."

She held out the disc and pointed out something for Booth. He squinted at the barely visible numbers in an attempt to read them, but didn't need to in order to figure out what they meant. "A serial number?"

"Yes," Zack piped up. "Once I find the right database, I'll run it through, and then we'll have a name."

"And this is definite?" Booth asked, somewhat skeptical of the situation. Would it really be possible to identify a person by a surgical implant?

"Nothing is ever one hundred percent, Booth. But this is very close to it," Bones said stonily. Her voice may have been hard, but as he looked into her eyes, he saw a rare glimmer of hope shining behind the icy blue pools.

"Oh," he said, his voice a million miles away. He was distracted by her again, and he was having a more difficult time pulling himself out.

Hearing a throat clear, he shook his head once and turned to Angela. She smiled as she said, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting kind of anxious to find out what her," she tapped her portrait of the victim, "name is."

"Right," Bones said. "Zack?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan."

"Run the serial number on the implant through all the databases." She turned to Angela. "Call Hodgins and tell him to reschedule his appointment for another day. We need him here now. I'll work the skeleton and try and learn more about this woman."

"Okay," they said simultaneously.

Booth was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. This case was affecting her deeply, and he had no idea why. She rarely got commanding over her staff, and it was usually a bad sign when she did.

Following her with his eyes as she made her way over to the skeleton, he watched as she bent over and picked up one of the many bones in the array on the table. She lifted it to eye level, then placed it back on the table, reaching over to the tray of nameless instruments that she used in her analyses. He found a stool and sat, knowing his job wouldn't really begin until they learned the victim's name.

_Come on, Kid. It's all on you._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Now that this is up, I'm off to work again. Enjoy!**_

* * *

Chapter 5

It had only taken Booth a few moments to become impatient with the slow progress the Squint Squad was making with the case. Angela had never returned from calling Hodgins, and Zack sat at the computer, blinking what seemed to be only once every five minutes.

Booth was entering his fortieth minute of pacing when a loud clap reverberated through the lab, causing him to jump slightly. "What'd I miss?" he heard Jack Hodgins ask as he turned toward the source of the sudden noise.

"I need you to examine these casings immediately," Bones said without missing a beat, holding out a clear evidence bag filled with various insects.

Hodgins took the bag cautiously, never taking his eyes off of it. He lifted it to eye level, studying it carefully. Booth watched as his eyes widened suddenly, and a grin teased the corners of his mouth.

"There are a few casings here, but a lot of dead beetles and soldier flies are mixed in. The soldier flies seem to have matured fully, but the beetles are in various stages of maturation. With ideal weather conditions, I would say your victim was killed in mid-October. But considering how cold it was in the fall here, death probably occured between late August and early September."

"Are you positive?" she asked.

"Only fools are positive." She glared at him, and he cleared his throat shakily. "Uh, this is just a first glance assessment. Let me take a closer look at the bugs and make a timeline, look up weather reports from August through December, and get back to you with a more concrete answer in a few hours."

"OK," she said as Hodgins walked over to his station. Booth watched as she turned back to the skeleton on her examination table, arching backwards before leaning forward to study the bones again. He sighed and returned to his stool, shooting back up seconds later to pace once more.

* * *

"Dr. Brennan," Zack said in a chilled tone, breaking Booth from the rhythm he had picked up during another thirty minutes of pacing. He saw Bones turn her head to look over her shoulder out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes, Zack," She said, dejection delicately lacing her tone.

"I think I found our victim." His voice was oozing sadness, causing Booth to frown considerably. He moved up behind Zack, followed immediately by her. He winced at the picture of the woman on the screen. Though the hair was different, and the eyes a slightly different color, it was the same woman in Angela's sketch.

Just as he found the name, Zack read, "Janelle Robustelli."

Hearing a small gasp, he turned to see Angela standing behind Bones, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh my God," she said, her voice wavering dangerously.

"What is it, Ange?" Hodgins asked, placing a hand on her shoulder as he moved in beside her.

"I knew I recognized her when I finished the sketch, but I didn't want to believe it." Her voice was shaking violently, tears sliding tentatively down her cheeks. No more than ten seconds later, she was sobbing, her hand shielding her eyes as a visor would.

Booth looked around the room, seeing expressions of shock and confusion that surely matched the one that he was wearing.

Turning his attention back to Angela, he saw that Hodgins had wrapped her in an embrace, his hand stroking her hair in a soothing up-and-down motion. Her sobs were forcing her back to bob with her unsteady breathing, and the look on her fiancé's face mirrored the helplessness Booth felt at the sight of her tears.

"It's OK, babe," Hodgins cooed. As her sobs began to subside slightly, he moved to hold her at arms length, giving her a reassuring smile. "Can you tell us what's going on?"

She breathed heavily, her chest heaving with the hiccupping sobs. She nodded stiffly, her right hand lifting to hold his on her shoulder.

After a few more tiny heaves, she took a very slow breath. "Janelle and I met at an art gallery about five years back. Her mother was an art professor at my college, and she was premiering her new work that night. She introduced me to Ella, and we hit it off. We've kept in touch since... I should've known something was up when she didn't email me at Christmas last year, but she was going for her PhD, so I figured she was just busy with school."

"Wait." They all turned in Zack's direction. "PhD? It says she would only have been 28 when she died. How was she already in school for her PhD?"

"Her IQ was somewhere in the high 130s, low 140s. She was homeschooled, and started college when she was fifteen or sixteen... I think." Angela sniffled, causing her back to rise and fall abruptly.

"Oh." Zack frowned. Booth thought he saw a slight tinge of jealously glimmer in his eyes, but brushed it off as his imagination.

They stood in silence for an eternity, Booth staring at a scuff mark on one of his shoes.

"Hello, everyone." He looked up quickly at the sound of Camille Saroyan's voice. He saw the smile she had been wearing collapse into a worried frown as she looked around. "I missed something big, didn't I?" When everyone just nodded, her frown deepened. "Ah."

"Ange?" Booth turned towards Hodgins's voice. When his eyes fell on Angela, his heart went into free fall. She was holding a plastic bag, the object within reflecting the fluorescent lights of the lab.

"Poor Greg," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Who's Greg?" Booth and Hodgins asked simultaneously.

Angela looked up from the ring, a fresh batch of tears running down her cheeks. "Greg Sanders. Her fiancé. He lives in Las Vegas. This is going to destroy him." Her eyes widened in shock, realization floating in the deep brown irises. "Oh my God, her parents. What am I going to tell her parents?"

"Nothing," Booth said immediately. "It's my job to tell the family."

She stared at him incredulously, but sighed dejectedly only seconds later. "Can I at least come with you. They'll need a familiar face."

"OK."


	6. Chapter 6

_**OK. Someone explain to me why I keep finishing these chapters right before my shift starts. UGH!... Anyway, now that I'm getting into this a bit more deep, reviews on the plot would be sincerely appreciated. Thanks!  
**_

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"Carmine Robustelli?" Booth asked as he held up his badge for the man to view through the screen of the sliding door. He was around the same height as Booth, with sandy gray hair and a scruffy visage. His forest green eyes were magnified by thick glasses with Buddy Holly rims.

"Yes, that is me." The thick Italian accent threaded itself with each word, answering any question they would've had to whether or not they were native Italians. "Why are you here?"

"It's about Ella, Pop," said Angela as she pushed past Booth into plain sight.

"Angela, is that you?" Robustelli opened the door slowly, shuffling through to where she stood.

"Mmhmm." He wrapped her in a friendly embrace, and Booth saw a smile grace his wrinkled features. His heart shattered completely knowing what they had yet to tell this fellow father.

"It's good to see you," he said, his voice shaking from something undetermined. Stepping back, he asked, "Now, where is _la mia bambina_?"

As Angela started to speak, Booth cut her off with, "Mr. Robustelli -"

"_Per favore_, call me Carmine."

"_Carmine_, do you mind if we take this inside?"

"No," a look of curiosity crimped the already wrinkled face, "come in."

They crossed the threshold into a porch where the air matched the stickiness outside to a tee. But as they walked through a door that led into a small kitchen, Booth almost went in hypothermic shock. The temperature was a good twenty five degrees lower inside.

Shivering despite himself, he continued to follow Carmine down a hallway that split into a living room and dining room. A paisley sofa was settled under a picture window that gave a full view of the mountains that stood majestically in the distance. An easy chair stood at a right angle to the sofa, and a floor lamp was nestled in the crook formed by the two seats. An out-of-date television sat against the wall directly across from the chair, flashing images of a baseball game through a snowy haze of static.

Taking a seat next to Angela on the sofa, he watched as the older man sat in the chair and leaned back. The silence was heavy with unspoken words that would ultimately lead to sorrow, and Booth was having a difficult time finding the courage to voice them.

"So what have you learned about my child?"

He looked to the man who was about to be destroyed. He sincerely did not want to do this. To tell this man that his daughter was dead could kill him, and Booth would never be able to forgive himself.

But it was his job, and he had no choice. So, taking a deep breath, he began. "Sir..." His mind shouted dozens on variations of what to say, and his head ached from the overflow. Deciding to leave out the state the woman had been found in, he continued, "your daughter's body was found in a field outside of D.C."

"_Caro dio_," said Carmine, right hand making the motions of crossing himself: something the agent was all too familiar with. "No. What am I going to tell my wife?"

Booth saw a lone tear trickle down his cheek. As it reached his chin and another slipped from the corner of the man's eye, the lock on the door to the right of the chair jiggled. The door opened with a slow creak as a woman with silver hair tied back into a bun stepped over the threshold.

She seem to be startled by his and Angela's presence, but recovered quickly. "Angela, how are you?" she said, her demeanor the polar opposite to the man she stood beside. Her accent was purely American, and Booth briefly wondered how the couple ever met.

He freed his mind of the thought as his companion spoke. "I'm doing alright, Roz." Grief mingled with the tone of Angela's voice, but he could tell that she was trying to hide it for this woman's sake.

"Who is this?" she asked, gesturing to Booth.

"Agent Seeley Booth, are you Roselyn Robustelli?" he said as evenly as possible after he stood from the couch.

"Yes," she said, confusion etching her features. She turned in the direction of her husband, who continued to sit, his face now buried in his hands. "Dear, what's the matter?"

"Ma'am, would you like to sit?" he asked, stepping to the side to offer her the seat next to Angela.

"Thank you," she said as she took the seat. He watched as the younger woman reached out and grasped the older woman's hand in hers. "Now, please tell me why my husband is so distressed."

"Mrs. Robustelli, a body was found in a field on the outskirts of D.C. Our anthropologist has confirmed that it's your daughter, Janelle."

As he finished speaking, an eerie silence rang in the living room, save for the occasional sharp intake of breath by Carmine. A confused expression morphed onto Roselyn's face, followed by one of pure horror as she realized the gravity of what he had just said.

"Is there any chance at all that this person isn't my daughter?"

Booth shook his head dejectedly. "I'm sorry."

At that moment, he saw hatred, fear, and grief intermingle in the hazel of her eyes. Whether the hatred was directed at him, he didn't know. But he would hate him too if he told him his child was dead.

He thought of Parker as he watched Angela pull Roselyn into a hug. He closed his eyes and imagined Parker during Pirates of the Caribbean, parrying imaginary blows from a sword, covering his eye with his hand to form an eye patch. Booth knew that if he lost his son, he would easily fall apart.

Sobs wracked the body of the woman in Angela's arms. The occasional mumbled 'no' was mixed in with the incoherent cries of despair that emanated from the frail body of the old woman.

Lost in the desperation of Roselyn's grieving, Booth never registered Carmine standing up from his seat, so when he felt someone pull on his arm that yanked him in another direction, he almost had a coronary.

"You find the son of a bitch who did this to my _bambina, approvazione?_"

Looking the man dead in the eyes, fire burning in his soul, Booth answered, "God help me, the person who did this will rot in hell if I have anything to do with it."


	7. Chapter 7

_**OK, guys. Don't get too excited about the two posts in as many days. As it were, my day off is tomorrow, so you might get a new chapter tomorrow, as well. But with this splitting headache I like to call Migraine nagging me incessantly, it probably won't happen. I'll see what happens. But for now, here is chapter 7. If you guys could give me feedback, that would be awesome and appreciated, but totally not necessary. Thanks for reading, anyway. Enjoy!**_

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The forty five minutes of traffic riddled driving it took to return to the lab from the Robustelli residence was thickly silent. Pain and sorrow hung above Booth like a dark cloud, pouring grief over him in sheets. The empathy he was feeling had a vice grip on his heart, and he couldn't shake the image of Carmine standing before him, ordering him to catch the person who killed his daughter. For the first time he could ever remember, he made a promise that he wasn't sure he could keep. There were more factors than just him investigating in this case, and one of them seemed to be more emotionally involved than he, despite her efforts to hide it.

Why was this case affecting Bones so deeply? He could understand if she were in the same situation as Angela, but that just wasn't the case. She was hiding something, and he was just as determined to figure out what that was as he was to solve this case.

Holding up his badge at the security check, the guard peered at it for a moment, then nodded as the gate rose to allow Booth access. He pulled into the parking area, scouring the lot for a space before finding one ten yards from the front entrance.

As he killed the engine, he glanced at Angela, who wore a vacant expression. Her eyes were glazed with another round of unshed tears, the puffiness from the previous rounds reddening the rims around her deep brown orbs. Her cheeks were still pink from the force of crying for an hour with Roselyn. He hadn't the heart to pull her away from her grieving before she was ready, so he just stood there, watching as they clung to each other, tears flowing in streams down the set tracks on Angela rosy-tan cheeks. Roselyn's husband stood behind her, grasping his wife's shoulders between his wrinkled hands.

Now she sat in his truck, ready to cry once again, but with no other sign of emotion in her swollen eyes. They remained in silence, his patience with her suffering never ending.

"You have to let me tell Greg," she said suddenly, her voice strong, despite the wavering from tears waiting to escape.

"Why?"

She began ticking off points on her fingers. Index finger, "My part in this investigation is done." Middle finger, "I've known Greg as long as I've known Janelle." Ring finger, "I promised Roz and Pop he'd find out in person." Pinky finger, "I can fly out to Vegas without holding back the investigation." Thumb, "And Bren needs you here. Probably more than she'd ever admit."

He raised his eyebrow at the thumb point. "What?"

She rolled her reddened eyes. "Booth, you're a smart man, you should be able to figure it out." He gave her his best confused look, and she sighed. "I can't tell you why, but this case is hell for Tempe. I'm surprised she's held it together this long." She placed her fingers on the door handle, but turned back to him. "She needs you to be here for her. I need you to be here for her. OK?"

He wanted to argue, to tell her that talking to the family was not her job. He wanted to make her tell him why Bones was bothered by this case. But instead, he just nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence, let alone a decent argument.

Angela opened her door and climbed out, prompting Booth to do the same. She walked a few feet ahead of him, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. He quickened his pace, pulling the door open and holding it for her as she crossed through. She smiled weakly over her shoulder before reaching into her purse. She held out her ID for the security guard, and headed straight for the elevators after he nodded his approval.

Booth did the same, receiving a worried look from the man checking his ID. He simply shrugged his shoulders, keeping the details of the case confidential, as they should be. He walked up beside Angela just as the elevator dinged to announce its arrival. They stepped inside simultaneously, and rode up to the lab silently, that same cloud hanging above them both.

The second they stepped out of the elevator, Hodgins was wrapping Angela in a hug. The look on his face showed that he had been worrying nonstop since they had left. When Booth shifted his gaze to the examination are, he saw Zack and Bones still working diligently on the skeleton.

Moving over there, he climbed the stairs and then stepped beside Bones. "You find anything?" he asked, his eyes roaming over the arrangement of bones.

"The C2 and C3 vertebrae were fractured," she stated flatly, her voice cool. "A sharp rotation of her neck caused the bones to break and, with the severity of these breaks, quite possibly transected the spinal cord, cutting off her ability to breathe."

Taking a calming breath, Booth asked, "Anything else?"

"The little muscle attachment that was left showed a dislocation of the left shoulder," Zack said quickly, eliciting the second raised eyebrow from Booth in less than an hour. "I did the examination of the body before the remaining tissue was removed from the bones."

"I've completed my assessment of the bugs found with the body," Hodgins said as he climbed the stairs.

"Where's Angela?" Bones asked.

"She's on the phone with the airline. She's trying to get a ticket to Vegas for as soon as possible?"

"Why?" Zack asked, confusion etching itself into the question.

Booth put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "She's flying out to tell the fiancé."

"Isn't that your job, Agent Booth?"

"Yes, Zack. But it's better that Angela does it."

As Zack went to speak yet again, Bones butt in with, "What did you learn from the bugs?"

Hodgins cleared his throat as he took his cue to speak. "That she was more than likely killed at the end of September."

"That fits," Cam said from behind Hodgins, causing him to turn around. Booth, along with the others, gave a curious stare as she climbed the stairs to the examination area. "Janelle Robustelli was reported missing September 25, 2007 by her parents. The investigation into her disappearance is still open. The files are being transferred to the Jeffersonian as we speak."

"Did anyone see her before she disappeared?"

"I don't know. We'll have to wait for the files. It shouldn't be more than an hour."

"Do we have an address for Janelle?" Booth asked, anxious to start his end of the investigation.

"Now that I have," Cam said. Handing over a sheet of white paper, she smiled meekly. Then, turning on her heels, she walked away from the group.

"What are you going to do now?" Bones asked him, her voice tired.

"I'm going to her," he motioned to the skeleton, "home to see if I can find anything that will help us catch the creep who killed her." Taking a steadying breath to stave off the quaking emotions in him, Booth sent a questioning look in his partner's direction. "You in?"

After a brief moment of hesitation, she gave the first verbalization of the effect this case was having on her. "Damn right, I'm in."


	8. Chapter 8

_**This has been done for quite a while but my computer is a pain in the butt and wouldn't let me upload it sooner. Sorry, guys. OK, now ENJOY!**_

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The first thing he noticed about the victim's apartment was that it was neat. The main door led into a room no larger than most master bedrooms in old Victorian houses. A small, black leather couch, hardly big enough for two people, sat between two picture windows. Framed by scarlet curtains, the windows offered a beautiful view of the fields in the distance. Beneath each, a small end table with a lamp sat in darkness.

To his right lay a small kitchen with modern appliances that hadn't been used in months. The refrigerator hummed softly as the partners surveyed the apartment that had only recently become vacant.

Against the wall to his immediate left, Booth saw a vast arrangement of books on a cherry oak bookshelf containing four shelves. His eyes scanned the titles, which gave insight into the life of the woman whose life was cut all too short by the hands of some soulless cretin.

Books on women's rights and gender studies dominated the second shelf, taking up nearly a quarter of the space on the third shelf. Along with the majority subject matter on the third shelf lay dozens of books on dance and music theory. Psychology and philosophy textbooks were set together on the bottom shelf, no more than four of each in total. Algebra, calculus, and trigonometry were represented in a small area next to them, amounting to seven books for all three combined. Five books on creative writing sat beside a wide variety of chemistry and physics texts. The rest of the shelf was occupied by cultural and physical anthropology books, the lack of dust on them making the rest of the books present look neglected.

What stood out most was that no pleasure reading novels to speak of lay on those bottom three shelves. He scoured the top shelf, determined to find just one book not written by a team of PhDs. Another dozen gender studies texts lined the shelf on the left, but he finally found what he was looking for directly beside them. A small line of books took up the remaining space on the shelf, all seemingly written by the same person. As he stepped up to get a closer look, he let out a sharp breath at the name emblazoned on the spines of each book: Temperance Brennan.

Just as he was recovering from the temporary shock, his brain switched gears. The practically dust free anthropology textbooks, along with the only pleasure reading novels being about a forensic anthropologist. "I think she may have been looking into a different career," he thought aloud, meeting his partner's confused stare as he turned to face her.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"This," he stated, gesturing to the bookcase in a style similar to Vanna White. "The only textbooks she seems to have shown an interest in recently are the anthropology books, and the only novels she owns are _your's_."

"She could just be interested in learning more about anthropology, Booth. Just because she studies it and takes the classes does not mean she's switching her focus to the subject. It just shows that she took a strong liking to it."

Shaking his head, he could only sigh at how she explained away yet another one of his theories. He wasn't surprised by it, but he wished that she could let him voice his theories without shooting them all to hell.

"Whatever, Bones."

He walked by her, his mind turning back to the investigation. He looked over the tables, seeing multiple picture frames on every surface. He walked over to the end table under the left window, picking up the silver frame on it. Staring out of the frozen moment in time was a dark haired woman he recognized as the victim and a man with spiked, sandy blond hair, enjoying what seemed to be a day at the beach. Her face was the perfect image of happiness, her dark eyes glimmering in the sunlight as she beamed into the camera. The man, who he could only guess was her fiancé, stood beside her, his arm draped around her shoulder nonchalantly. Though his body faced the camera, his head was turned toward the woman in his embrace, a goofy grin plastered on his boyish face.

Booth was forcing the anger that boiled in his blood into submission, his skin hot with rage. This happy moment, forever stilled by the shutter of a camera's lens, would be one of the few memories of the life that would never continue. This man, who loved the woman in the photo more than the world, would never be able to take that next step into their relationship. He'd forever wonder what their life together would have been like, but never truly experience it.

Shoving thoughts of a life not his own aside, he turned to Bones, who was standing in front of a door on his left. It sat slightly ajar, giving them the option of entering before the crime scene techs arrived. Nudging it open with the side of her arm, he watched as she entered through the dark doorway.

Expecting her to be further inside, he collided with her back as he followed her into the room. Reaching out as she lunged forward, he grasped at her shoulder. Gripping it firmly in his hand, he spun her around and pulled her toward him, attempting to help her regain her footing. As she stumbled forward, he realized he had tugged her a little too firmly, and coughed involuntarily when her palms flattened violently against his chest.

Taking her upper arms in his hands, he took a shallow breath. She looked up at him with a look that look accusatory and apologetic at the same time. Her eyebrow raised in question, and she glanced toward her arms, still held firmly by him. He followed her gaze momentarily, then shifted his stare back to her eyes.

It was then that he realized how close they were. Her scent was faint in his nostrils, and he was becoming lightheaded. His gaze flicked to her lips fleetingly, her exhale his inhale in the minimal distance between their mouths. He could feel her heat emanate to him, and was beginning to lose the very little control he still retained around her.

Before he did something he would regret, he stepped back, clearing his throat as he did. She stared at him, her expression shifting to one he couldn't read. Deciding it safer not to speak, he moved past her into the bedroom.

In no more than a second, he realized something was off. As he studied the room, it didn't measure up to the rest of the apartment. The bed was unmade, the sheets thrown about the bed carelessly. The lamp on the nightstand lay on it's side, teetering precariously on the edge. On the ground beside the bed lay multiple articles of clothing that consisted of a tank top, flannel pants, and – the most telling of all – a ripped pair of panties. They were scattered about the room haphazardly, telling Booth what he didn't want to know: this woman wasn't just murdered.

"She was raped."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Another chapter here... it kinda sucks... and I ended it terribly. But y'all came around to read it, so obviously I'm doing something right with all the other ones. Hope you guys enjoy!**_

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"What?" Her voice was thick with confusion and shock, but more prominently with disbelief. "How could you possibly know that, Booth? You have no physical evidence to prove it."

"Really, Bones?" he asked, pointing out the torn pair of underwear saying haphazardly next to the bed. Her face fell into a deep frown when she saw the garment. She turned her head away quickly, visibly disturbed.

As she went to speak, the sounds of footfalls had them both turning their heads toward the doorway. A crime scene analyst poked his head into the bedroom, a questioning look flickering across his eyes. Booth turned to Bones, giving her freedom from the previous conversation so she could do her job.

Her face hardening considerably as she struggled to regain her outer composure, she looked over to the analyst and said, "Do the standard search of the apartment, but spend extra time searching for prints and bodily fluids. Specifically semen."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," he replied before pulling his head from the doorway. In moments, the buzz of activity began to drone outside the bedroom.

An investigator with a Luma-Lite came into the bedroom, walking over to the bed immediately. She pulled back the sheets, her orange goggles propped on her head like sunglasses.

When Booth went to flick the switch as the woman pulled back the sheets, she practically shouted, "Stop!"

"What is it?" Bones asked.

"Blood," the woman stated with a finality Booth hadn't heard before. He peeked over, seeing the dark red splotch on the pristinely white sheets. "OK, now you can get the lights." She donned her goggles, activating the blue light as he hit the switch. The bed was cast in an eerie blue glow, save for a single white mass in the same vicinity of the blood spot.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," she stated, her face glowing in the fluorescence of the Luma-Lite. Shutting off the light, she repositioned her goggles on the crown of her head and turned to him and Bones. "I can't say for sure, but the positioning of the blood and the semen are too close for comfort." She took a deep breath. "If your victim was raped, it's very likely she was a virgin when it happened."

Booth's eyes widened in shock, his chest constricting with a cold sense of hatred. Turning to Bones, he saw a dangerously calm expression on her face: one that told him that more than just one emotion was boiling within her. Placing a hand on her lower back to show her he was still there, she glanced over at him.

In that one connection she allowed between their gazes, he saw anger. Her eyes were aflame with rage beyond anything he could comprehend, immense sadness and hurt mingling in an unsettling sortie. She looked as if she would attempt to launch the bed across the room, giving Booth the little initiative he needed to hit the road.

With the least effort ever used in the history of their partnership, he gently pushed Bones toward the door, indicating that they were leaving. She gave no protest to their departure, and in fact began moving ahead of him as they exited the apartment.

Pushing through the doors leading in and out of the building, the two of them walked side by side to the car, Booth's hand finding its way back to the small of her back when they neared their destination. She climbed into her seat when they arrived, practically slamming the door once inside. He flinched, then walked around to the driver's side to get in himself.

As he ignited the engine, he felt that same dark cloud reforming within the confines of the SUV. With that cloud came the reminder of his and Angela's talk earlier that morning, along with the wonder of what could possibly be bothering Bones so much.

_Should I ask her about it?_ he asked himself, an argument imminent. He knew he should, but it was hard to know how she would react. It _was _Temperance Brennan. But he liked to think that his friendship with her allowed him the freedom to ask such questions. And, if all else failed, he could just blame it on professional reasons, even though the truth of the matter was that it was one hundred percent personal.

Turning his attention back to the road, he found himself at an intersection only a few miles away from the Jeffersonian. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now. He had the vicinity of the lab as a cushion for any awkward consequences it may cause.

He looked over to his partner, who was staring out the window with a distracted gaze. "Hey, Bones. Where are you?"

"What?" she asked, her voice holding on to every ounce of distraction that her gaze had lost as she turned to him.

"You seem... out of it. Is something wrong?"

"Of course not, Booth. I'm fine."

"Now see... why don't I believe you?" She looked at him, completely unsettled by his remark. He could only shake his head at her expression. "No case we've worked before has ever had this effect on you. You've been bossing the other Squints around much more than usual, rushing them around like some Nazi general on a power trip. You look like you're ready to drop, and it's barely past four."

"I am not about to drop... I'm fine. Just let it go."

"No, Bones. I would if it were just that. But the fact that you were about ready to pop me for suggesting that our victim was raped is not like you. What the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing, Booth. Okay? I just... don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," he conceded, unable to take her stubborn attitude any longer. He didn't have the patience at this point to deal with her. He loved her, but she was being ridiculous, and obviously didn't trust him enough to reveal whatever it was that was bothering her to him.

They pulled into a spot in the parking lot of the Jeffersonian in a dead silence. It wasn't awkward, just strained. It seemed forced, which made very little sense to him. Usually, when they were in this type of argument, the silence was easy, and the conversation was strained. The only explanation he could think of was that she wanted to speak... tell him her problem, but was too afraid to do so. Deciding it best to let her tell him in her own time, he climbed out of the truck and waited for her to do the same.

They entered the building, receiving the standard nods of approval from the guards when showing his ID. Stepping into the elevator, they rode up in the same strained silence, the steady rhythm of dinging informing them that they passed yet another floor the only sound in the confined space.

The doors slid open at their floor, and they walked out into the too-white room, only to see Angela standing almost immediately in front of him. A dried track of tears rested on her cheeks, giving Booth the indication that she had been crying again.

"What's wrong, Angela?" Bones asked.

"I called Greg to tell him I was heading over to Vegas tonight, and before I could stop myself I let it slip that we had a lead in Ella's disappearance. He already landed, so Jack is at the airport to pick him up. I couldn't face him yet."

"You couldn't just tell him exactly what that lead was before he bought the ticket?" she asked, confused.

"Because, Temp... I just... couldn't. It didn't feel right to tell him over the phone. Too impersonal." Just then, her cell phone let out a muffled shrill from her coat pocket, and she reached in to answer it with a shaky hand. "Hello... Hey, Greg... No, Jack is there... The guy with the beard... He's wearing a navy blue lab coat... Yes, lab coat... OK, I'll see you tonight."

"Are you sure you don't want me to tell him, since he's here?"

Angela gave him one of her pleading looks, telling him her answer before she spoke it.

"Yes... His fiancée was my best friend. I'm not letting him find out she's dead from a stranger."


	10. Chapter 10

_**OK, everybody. Here's chapter 10. I know, I'm moving quick, but I'm inspired. Y'all may not see another chapter for a few days, possibly a week, so savor this one for what it is. Hope you guys like it, and leave a review to tell me if anything sticks out for you and makes you especially happy. Much love! ENJOY!**_

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Time dragged for the next two days as each lead they had acquired in their first day hit dead end after dead end. The only thing they were waiting on were the results from the DNA found at the victim's apartment. Booth could no longer hide his frustration as he pushed back from his desk and drag his hands roughly through his hair.

_If the lab hadn't been so damn backed up, we would've had those results yesterday._

Kicking the corner of his desk, he thought back on the previous morning. A less-than-welcome visit from the fiancé had proven itself a hindrance to the rest of the days efforts. Though not making his grief known, he seemed to be watching them like a puppy watching a bug fly about the room, never wandering from the lab for more than a moment. He desperately wanted to help with the investigation, but – after multiple explanations from Booth – was forced to step aside. But with all the Squints working themselves to death, only Booth was left to keep an eye on Greg.

Another problem was Bones. She seemed to be avoiding him without making it obvious, though it was to him. She made excuses to work in her office – whether it was leaving Zack with the skeletal remains or the others to fend for themselves on whatever case they had been working prior to Janelle Robustelli's.

A groan of impatience emanated from deep in his chest, followed by a quick intake of air when he was surprised by his cell phone ringing. He checked the caller ID, and was momentarily taken aback by the appearance of 'Bones' on the screen. It couldn't be good if she were calling him, knowing that when she called, it was all business: and that business never turned out well.

Ever.

"Yeah," he said, unable to extinguish the exasperation that burned within him.

"The DNA lab called," came Bones's ever-chilling voice of professionalism. "They didn't get any results when they ran it locally, but received a hit when they put it through the national database. It belongs to a man named Aaron James." She paused a moment, as if something else needed to be said, but she wasn't quite sure how to say it. "He was involved in some drug related crimes last April. His prints and DNA were entered into the database, but he was never officially charged with anything."

Even though she seemed done, he still felt as if something had gone unsaid. "Is there anything else?"

"He was arrested in Las Vegas."

Without formalities, he slammed his phone shut and grabbed his coat. Making sure his office was in check, he rushed out the door in a flash of navy blue.

* * *

Booth hurried into the Jeffersonian, barely giving the guards a chance to see his ID as he blasted through the front doors and over to the elevator. He tapped his foot impatiently while he waited out the trip to his intended floor, breathing deeply in a futile attempt to calm down.

His heart raced with the implications of the information he had just learned. Was it simply a coincidence that their main suspect was from the same city as the fiancé of their victim? Or was there a connection that they were soon to learn of?

And if there is a connection, what would it be? From experience, Booth expected it to be revenge (though he had been wrong in the past). But the odds were in his favor, in this case.

At least he hoped so.

As the elevator glided open, questions largely unrelated to the case popped into his head. What was bugging Bones so terribly? How bad could it possibly be to be worth the risk of damaging their relationship as it stood? Why couldn't she simply tell him?

And for that matter, why was she so, for lack of a better phrase, emotionally retarded? What kept her from feeling what he felt for her? Or was that really how it was? Was she unwilling to share this emotion for a reason he didn't know of? Was the issue she was having with the case connected to her inability to open up to him on an emotional level?

His thought process was interrupted by the sounds of slightly raised voices coming from Bones's office. Their volume increased as he approached, and soon he was able to distinguish whose voice was whose. Angela and Bones came in crystal clear, and a single male voice that he didn't recognize.

Curious, he rounded the corner and ambled toward the door to his partner's office. It wasn't long before his gaze fell upon the owner of the mystery voice. A tall man with sandy blond hair that stood in barely visible spikes stood in front of the couch facing Bones, his arms hidden in front of his body.

As he entered the room, three sets of eyes landed on him, forcing him to stop in the doorway against his will. When his eyes met those of the man standing in the office, he immediately recognized him as the fiancé.

"Greg Sanders?" he asked, extending his hand.

Dropping his left hand to his side, Greg met Booth's outstretched hand with his own right hand. "Yeah. You must be Agent Booth."

"Yeah. I'm sorry for your loss."

The man shrugged, his slumped shoulders barely lifting with the effort. He recrossed his arms across his chest, his discomfort visible simply in his body language.

Turning to Bones, Booth asked, "Did you tell him yet?"

"If you're talking about Aaron James, yes," she said, her voice showing no sympathy whatsoever.

"Uh huh." He kicked his foot, then erased the scuff mark formed by his actions. "Well, do you know his whereabouts?" he asked, his question directed at Greg.

"No, but knowing him, he's with his mother. The little I've seen James, his mother has been there to defend him." He sighed, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I thought he was done getting into trouble after his stint with Drops. I can't believe he..." His voice faded into a low whisper before dropping out completely, then he broke into tears.

Stepping out from in front of Bones's desk, Angela wrapped Greg into an embrace meant for a close friend. She had tears streaming down her cheeks, anger flaming in the brown orbs. His hand clenched at the fabric of her lab coat, the grief flooding from his eyes in sheets.

Booth watched helplessly, wanting to say something that may comfort the man in desperate need for solace from the pain of losing his fiancée. But before he could think of anything would help, Bones jumped in. And what would surprise him most was that she mentioned the Holy Spirit in her mini-rant.

"Greg, if there's one thing in this God forsaken world that's worth a damn, it's the efficiency of this lab, and the determination of the FBI. I swear on everything I have, Aaron James will pay for what he did to Janelle Robustelli."


	11. Chapter 11

**_OK, I'm sorry that I took so long to write this chapter. When you read it, you'll know why it took the time it did. If you're disappointed with this chapter, I apologize. I did my best to make it believable. I'm happy with it, but I understand if some of you are not. Enjoy!_**

* * *

Somehow, during the next hour, Booth was left alone with Bones in her office, sitting on the couch as he watched her. She sat staring at her computer screen, her fingers frozen above the keyboard in anticipation, the writer's block pulling at her features. The surprise he felt at her not kicking him out after the first ten minutes didn't match what he was feeling after her vow to Greg.

The skin of her face was pale, matching the crisp shade of white his shirt held. He could see her just visibly shaking, her eyes a silver hollow with no sign of life within. He couldn't fathom how dark her mood must have been to create the empty canvas her face portrayed.

"I was twenty five." He jumped at her words, not expecting her to speak. He met her eyes as she turned to face him. When she spoke, her voice was low and hoarse. As he searched her expression, he saw no sign of emotion, save for the unmistakable glimmer of unshed tears in her icy orbs. "Josh and I had been dating for several years, and had been engaged for six months before he disappeared." Booth could only nod, completely unaware that his partner had been engaged before. It was then that he realized how little he knew about his partner's personal life beyond the Internet guy, David.

As a lone tear slid down her cheek, he got the impression that he knew where this conversation was headed. "The police found his body a few weeks later. It was badly decomposed, and the anthropologist here at the time was at a dig in Guatemala. The Jeffersonian called the university, requesting one of the grad students be sent out to assist the police in the investigation."

He could hear her strained words beginning to defy her struggled attempt at keeping her voice even as she spoke, her emotions seeming to get the better of her. "The lack of identification meant nothing. I knew it was him. The dental records just gave the lab and police department the legal confirmation they needed.

"Months went by after his body was found. Lead after lead brought about countless dead ends. After a year, even I gave up. There was only so much the police could do before they had to close the case. I always had an idea who murdered my fiancé, but I was never able to link the suspect to Josh outside of their personal hatred for each other. No evidence was left at the scene that was distinctive to Pete, and after a couple years of halfhearted attempts at tracking some down, I just... gave up."

Her out of character actions were starting to accumulate to immeasurable heights. His mind was reeling with long hidden information and surprise at how easily she was now telling him it. She looked at him with sad eyes (sadder than he'd ever seen them), and let the tears flow freely. She wasn't crying in the normal, average human sense, but in the 'Temperance Brennan' way. There were tears, along with swollen, red eyes. Her lip pouted slightly - barely visible unless he looked very closely - and her nose ran, mixing in with the tears that met at her chin.

The sobs were the only thing missing. Her body didn't quiver and quake with the emotion. Her face didn't crimp to force the tears from her eyes to make them go faster. She didn't hug herself in a desperate attempt at protection from the flood of pain washing over her. She just sat there, staring at him with saturated eyes.

As if by osmosis, her pain was seeping into him. His heart filled until it was bursting at the seems with empathy, and he stood abruptly from his seat. Without hesitating, without warning her, and without care, he shot behind her desk and pulled her out of her chair. He wrapped his arms around her lovingly – protectively – and reassuringly caressed her back. He breathed heavily as his own tears threatened to emerge.

Booth couldn't determine how long they stood there, holding each other, waiting for the pain to dissipate. It became abundantly clear that it was not going to work, but as he felt her take in fist fulls of his jacket, and felt the cool, dampness of her tears soaking through his shirt, a question formed in his mind. One that he couldn't just push away until later, because he was convinced that an honest answer would only be possible at that very moment.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he held her at arms length and studied her face intently. "Why?" he asked in the steadiest voice he could muster through the choked breaths he took. He couldn't verbalize the whole question, and he could only pray that she understood him.

"What?" she asked, her voice shaky and hoarse.

_Damn it_. Clearing his throat, he said, "Take your pick, Bones? Why are you telling me this now? Why are you acting so outside of yourself? Why couldn't you tell me this before?" He could tell that he was making no sense, and that his questions were probably redundant. But he couldn't care less about his clarity, because he just wanted answers.

"I didn't tell you about this before because I didn't see the point in bringing up Josh during this investigation, mainly because I didn't see the significance of it in regards to Janelle Robustelli's murder," she stated, her pitch wobbling between octaves as her voice recovered from the assault of tears. She seemed highly interested in her shoes at that moment. "I hadn't though of him in years, and I just wanted to forget again. I was beginning to act irrationally, and I wanted to get myself back under control. Talking about Josh would have been counterproductive to that task.

"When just trying to forget didn't work, I looked at it from a different perspective." She looked up at him, her eyes stern, despite the glossiness of tears. "From _your _perspective," she clarified. "I decided that talking about it was for the best."

Placing a hand tentatively on her elbow, he asked, "Was it?"

"I... don't know." Her head hung woefully, the auburn locks she had pulled from her clip earlier that day hiding her features in a dark shadow.

"Bones?" he said in a tone that brought her gaze back to his. "I can't imagine what it feels like to go through what you've been through. I hate to know that your pain runs so deep, and there's nothing that can be done to fix it. But..." he trailed off, trying to find words that wouldn't send her into a rant of rationalizations and contradictions. "But giving up isn't you. Temperance Brennan, in more than two years working with you, I have never seen you give up. To know that you have... I can't believe it. I know it's hard, but you have to understand that there is always more than one way to get what you want. It may not be how you pictured it happening, but you just have to let it be."

"Booth... if you're trying to say that finding Janelle's murderer will be the same as apprehending Josh's, you have completely lost your mind. Not only does it not make sense, but it leaves my fiance's_ actual _murdereron the street. It, in no way, brings justice to Josh."

"Damn it, Bones. I am _not _saying that. I'm _not_ talking about the case anymore!" he yelled, his eyes flickering to the closed office door. For the life of him, he couldn't remember who shut it, but he was grateful. "I'm talking about _us_!" he blurted, his face instantly heating up.

"What?" she asked, her face contorted into a dumbfounded expression.

Closing his eyes, he pictured the act of strangling himself. Peeking out of the hole he'd just dug himself into, he looked at her with a look of fear in his eyes. "You. Me." He motioned between them, "Us." When she just stared blankly at him, tear tracks drying on her cheeks, he sighed dejectedly. "I..." trying to reconnect his spinal cord to his speech center, Booth struggled to find a way to explain himself.

Taking a deep breath of courage, he stared her directly in the eyes. "We've been working together awhile. Naturally, we formed a twisted sort of friendship in that timespan... despite the fact that you're a relentless pain in my ass when you want to be." She glared at him, forcing the moisture that had settled over her gray-blue orbs to overflow a bit. "Somehow, along the way, some kind of Mulder-Scully thing took hold of us."

"I don't know what that means," she stated.

"The X-Files?" Blank stare. "I've used this analogy with us before. Well, not necessarily in the same context, but I've used Mulder and Scully to describe us in the past." When she quirked an eyebrow but continued to say nothing, Booth pressed the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the pending headache. "Why does everything I ever try to tell you have to end up being this difficult?

"Whatever. I'm trying to say that there's something beyond our partnership - beyond our friendship – that's bigger than anything I've experienced before... and something that you've long since lost hope in."

Realization slowly began creeping into her features, adding to the cornucopia of emotions already present in her torn face. Breaking away from his gaze, she began shaking her head, obviously trying to avoid it. Stepping up to her and tucking his finger under her chin to lift her eyes back to his, Booth gave her his most charming smile, trying to help her relax. When she turned away from him and stepped back, his heart dropped a little.

As he went to speak, his phone rang with a loud urgency. Yanking it from his waistband, he flipped it open and nearly crashed it into his ear as he said, "Booth," in a very annoyed growl as he walked around the desk.

"Agent Booth, you've been called into an interview with," he heard papers shuffle, then, "Aaron James. He was -"

Disconnecting, he turned to Bones and said, "They have Aaron James."

"Let's go," she urged. He felt every ounce of her being pushing him to drop their previous conversation.

Unfortunately, his only option was to concede. "OK." And as they walked out of the lab to head to their next destination, the words of a pirate echoed in his head.

_If you were waiting for the opportune moment... that was it._


	12. Chapter 12

_**OK, another long one, because my brain decided to rebel against the 'short chapters, easy story' mantra I've been chanting this whole time. I know this story is becoming insufferable, and that I'm pulling out a lot of stops to make what I've written work, but I hope you guys are still enjoying it. Reviews are appreciated but not necessary. Enjoy!**_

* * *

"Mr. James," Booth started, his exasperation level having reached an unexpected high throughout the duration of the interview. "You murdered Janelle Robustelli in an attempt at revenge against Greg Sanders. Try and explain this to me without sounding like a completely heartless bastard, OK?"

Receiving nothing but a blank stare from the man sitting across from him, Booth could only shake his head. Nothing about Aaron's silence surprised him. The man's eyes only reflected anger and disdain at his current predicament. He couldn't care less that he had shamelessly defiled and destroyed a woman's body, then promptly took her life when he was done.

"Yeah, I didn't think you could do it."

Standing from his seat, Booth headed for the door of the interrogation room, only to be stopped cold by the words, "My brother was my best friend. He didn't deserve to die the way he did. An apology from the city of Las Vegas didn't cut it wit me. Sanders needed to pay for what he did to Demetrius."

"So you killed his fiancé?" He shook his head in disbelief, fury clouding his brain, destroying any control over he had over his decisions. He stalked his way back over to the table, practically launching himself over it as he yanked Aaron toward him by the collar of his shirt. "Do you have _any _clue how little sense that makes!" he shouted, his voice shaky with emotion. He recalled Greg's account of Demetrius James's death. "Greg Sanders saw a man being beaten in an alley. Thinking this man was in danger of being killed, he decided to try and intervene. In the process, a punk kid picks up something he clearly intends to hurtle through the window at him. At that moment, he made what even I would consider a stupid move. Striking the kid with an SUV may not have been the best decision, but it saved his life. Your brother's friends took it upon themselves to beat the hell out of Greg, diverting most of their attention away from the man that they had originally attempting to kill. He saved that man's life. The fact that your brother died with his efforts is unfortunate, but it saved an innocent man from dying at the hands of a gang of worthless scumbags beating people for entertainment."

Throwing James back into his chair, Booth flattened his palms on the stainless steel tabletop and shot daggers at the now frightened young man. "You killed Janelle Robustelli in cold blood. Greg Sanders unintentionally killing your brother is not the same as what you did. You _intentionally_ raped _and _murdered a woman simply because you _could_. You think it balances out some cosmic design, or was justified? Let me tell you something, you stupid prick," he began, straightening his stance. Placing his hands on his hips and giving the man a pointed stare, he ended with, "An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind." Turning to the officer, who stood with a shocked expression on his face, he said, "Bring him back to lock up," before opening the door and stepping into the viewing room.

Bones turned to face him, a bewildered expression on her face. "That could probably be considered excessive force, Booth."

"Your point?" She only shrugged, her eyes suggesting that she did not entirely disapprove of his previous actions. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure I got through to him."

"Well, with that display, one can only hope."

He turned away from her, heading out of the viewing room with the intention of driving Bones back to the lab. The discussion they had been having before the call was long past the expiration date, but he couldn't seem to shake it. He desperately wanted to finish it, to tell her that they needed to. It seemed, however, that there was no way he could relieve himself of the overwhelming feeling that the moment had passed.

When they exited the building side-by-side, Booth couldn't resist the instinctive urge to place his hand on the small of her back. The faded light of dusk enveloped the D.C. skyline, painting the normally stark white buildings a variety of pastels.

He ignited the engine after they had both climbed in, the dread he felt at needing to face Greg again taking over. He tried telling himself that they had the killer, and that it should count for something. But knowing that the guilt would eat away at the man, with no possible comfort to ease his pain. At least none that the FBI could offer him.

* * *

"So you got him?" Greg asked as Booth and Bones approached him in the lab. Angela stood behind him, a reassuring hand placed gently on his shoulder. The eyes were hopeful, masking the melting pot of emotions within.

"Yeah," was all Booth could say in response. He looked fleetingly over at his partner, who wore an expression to rival the steel of the table in the interrogation room. "He's going to pay for what he did," he said, echoing the earlier words of his partner.

Smiling dejectedly, Greg said, "I don't think it will ever be enough to know who killed Ella. Nothing will ever repair what Aaron James destroyed." He took a deep breath, his voice still shaking with relentless pain. "Everyday since I found out I had killed Demetrius James, I wished I could take it back. Knowing that I'm the reason that Ella is dead -" he broke off suddenly, but stopped everyone else form intervening. "Knowing that... I still wish I could take it back. Not because I want Ella back – even though I do, with all my heart. It's because I've caused more pain than I ever thought possible, and it just... sucks, because I can never make up for it." Angela turned him around and hugged him, the purest look of sadness caressing her features.

It was then that Booth had his second epiphany. Despite the grief that was predominant in this case, he saw something else that was plain, simple, and would be obvious to even someone as dense as Bones could be. He saw love. The friendship that Greg and Angela shared was a prime example. They may not love each other romantically, but the depth of caring that Angela portrayed with her friend was nothing short of what he and his partner shared during the fledgling years of their partnership.

What Greg seemed to have felt for his late fiancé, however, was something that Booth felt intensifying between Bones and himself. And what was more? He was getting sick of avoiding the subject. He was, in fact, in love with his partner, and he hated dancing around the issue just to keep her from feeling uncomfortable. There is only so much patience a man can have with a woman who doesn't think she can feel love, and he was down to his last phalange.

Just then, Greg's cell phone rang. He answered it reluctantly, his pained expression making it clear that he was not thrilled about the caller. "Hi, Roz... Oh, God. I'll be right there." Violently flipping the phone shut, he looked up with a terrified expression. "Ella's father is in the hospital. He just had a severe heart attack. It doesn't look good."

"I'll drive you over," Booth said, waving off Angela's attempt to convince him otherwise. He needed to tell the family about the arrest, anyway. And he owed it to the father to tell him himself.

"We're coming with you, Booth," Angela stated with no room for argument. He watched as she grabbed Bones's arm, leading her to the elevator.

* * *

Entering the hospital in flurry of lab coats, suits, and T-Shirts, they hurried up to the reception desk. "Carmine Robustelli?" Greg asked in a panicked voice.

After a few seconds of clacking at the keyboard, the receptionist replied, "He's in critical care. You can go up now, but you won't be able to see him."

"Thank you," Booth said, turning to the elevators. The footfalls behind him and Greg signaled that the two female companions were following. When he pressed the button to go up, they only had to wait a surprisingly short amount of time before the doors of one of the elevators slid open and allowed them access.

Stepping inside the roomier-than-usual cab, Booth pressed the button for the all too familiar floor and watched the doors slide close in front of him. His mind buzzed with sympathy for the woman they were about to meet on the opposite side of the elevator doors. She was immeasurably closer to losing more than she would ever have expected in less than a week. Her daughter was already murdered, and it was inescapably clear to him how unfair it would be for her to lose her husband so soon afterwards.

When the elevator came to a sudden stop, he waited for the doors to slide open before exiting the now insufferably small space. What he came face to face with was probably the most disheartening scene he'd ever seen.

The silver haired woman he'd come to know as Roselyn Robustelli sat in one of the many chairs littering the floor, her face glistening with the tears that soaked her cheeks. Her right hand clutched a tissue in a death grip, her left placed mindlessly over her chest, the nails digging into the fabric of her blouse. A significantly smaller woman with white hair splotched with unturned brown sat beside her, a hand rubbing her shoulder in an effort to comfort, without having the desired effect.

"Roz!" Greg called as he bolted over to her, a blur of dirty blond hair. He knelt in front of her, taking the hand on her chest within his. Soon, he was followed by Angela, who took the seat beside her that wasn't already occupied. She placed a hand on Roselyn's forearm, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

And all Booth could do was watch. What was he supposed to say? It wasn't the right time to inform the woman of the apprehension of her daughter's murderer. What relief would that bring her for the current situation? He was almost positive that it would just make it worse.

So, with his plan of telling the parents about Aaron James having fallen through, Booth walked up behind Greg and told him that he would be back later that night to bring him and Angela back to the lab.

"No, Booth. That's OK. Jack can come get us," Angela said.

He nodded before turning back to his partner, and without preamble, and without giving her a choice, said, "Let's go to the diner."


	13. Chapter 13

**_Hey guys! I finally finished this silly chapter. My writer's block has been brutal lately, and I was hardly able to write anything until tonight. It may not be what y'all want right now, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it as much as I did when I reread it! Please, if you have anything to say, tell me! I want to know what you guys think. But it's entirely up to you. Enjoy!_**

* * *

"I thought I would find you two here," came the annoyingly familiar voice as Booth took his final bite of pie. The exasperated sigh from his partner was the little confirmation he needed to know that Dr. Lance Sweets was standing behind him. "Did you forget about our appointment earlier today?"

"No," Booth stated simply.

"Ah." Sweets moved to stand at the end of the table, drumming his fingers on the surface once before saying, "Well, we'll do it now, considering you've blown off the last four appointments we've had scheduled."

In no mood to argue, Booth stood up silently and moved to the seat beside Bones, who shuffled towards the window to give him more room. Staring down Sweets with an indignant look, Booth asked, "Can we get this over with?"

"What's the hurry?" Booth glared at him with the best 'drop it' look he could muster, and watched as the psychologist squirmed in his seat. Turning his attention to Bones, Sweets said, "Anyway, what's had you two so busy lately?"

"A case," she stated bluntly, her tone dripping exhaustion and the determination to hide it.

"I understand that, Dr. Brennan. Which case were you investigating?" His voice betrayed the impatience he had long since lost the ability to hide when it came to working with Dr. Temperance Brennan, and Booth forced back a snicker at the man's suffering.

"The Janelle Robustelli case. We closed it today," he interjected, ignoring the annoyed look his partner shot at him.

"You're being more impatient than usual, Agent Booth," Sweets stated, now skillfully brushing off the glare he received. "Are you trying to avoid something?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked in a slightly raised voice.

"No need to get hostile, I'm just doing my job," he defended, his eyes taking on a somewhat frustrated glaze.

"Right," Booth said with a huff. "Besides, it's not me who's avoiding something."

"What was that?" Sweets and Bones asked simultaneously.

"Nothing."

As Bones sat back, Booth noticed Sweets quirk an eyebrow. He was probably thinking the same thing: She hadn't even tried to get him to confess what he said even a little bit, and usually she didn't give up until he was blabbing just to get her to shut the hell up. Now she just sat back, staring out the window, her eyes fixated on what must have been a very interesting spot on the sidewalk.

"Bones? You OK?"

"Not really, Booth," she admitted, shocking both men. She turned to face Booth, a heated expression melting her features."I just watched a man confess to a selfish, violent rape and murder with the most apathy I have _ever_ seen a human being express. And then, to top it all off, the mother of the victim is sitting in the lobby of the intensive care unit, waiting for news of whether her husband is going to die from the heart attack he had or not." Her face had turned a nice shade of red by the time she had finished, adding to the ferocity it held.

And Booth couldn't stop himself from thinking she looked sexy.

He tore his eyes away and saw Sweets staring at her with the most dumbfounded look he'd ever seen on his face. He narrowly avoided laughing out loud, which would surely have landed him in the hospital.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bones turn her gaze away from him and onto Sweets. "What?" she asked in a defensive tone.

"This is the most emotion you've ever displayed, Dr. Brennan. I'm simply in shock because you did it in such a public place."

It was then that Booth decided to look around, and he realized that every person in the diner was staring at his partner with confused expressions. Standing up, he grabbed her arm gently and began to lead her out of the booth, glaring at the psychologist angrily all the while. As she stood behind him waiting, he leaned towards a petrified Sweets and gruffly whispered, "Next time, just stick to the office."

Swiftly, he turned her toward the exit, intending on bringing her back to the lab to pick up her car. When they were secured in the truck, he turned to her and asked, "Are you going to be alright?"

"I really don't know, Booth." He watched as she leaned her head against the window and sighed, starting the engine and putting the vehicle in gear as he did. Checking over his shoulder, he backed out of the space and pulled out of the parking lot into the street. When he made the usual turn to go to the lab, Bones said quietly, "Could you just take me home?"

"Uh... sure, Bones."

* * *

Standing in front of her building, Booth waited for Bones to extract her keys from her purse. She had rogue tears staining her face, and they had surprised him when he first saw her as they had exited the car.

Unlocking the door, she stepped through and waited for him to follow. They walked calmly over to the stairs, due to her elevators being out of order. Climbing slowly, they did so side-by-side for three flights before they finally reached her floor. Approaching the door to her apartment, he stopped as she lifted her keys to the lock.

But she froze mid-turn. Her fingers shaking around the keys, she turned to face him. Her eyes were pleading, tears welling up in her eyes. "What is wrong with me, Booth?"

Staring at her for only a moment more, he wrapped his arms around her supportively, unable to answer her question immediately. He made himself think of something, but he couldn't come up with anything nearly good enough to comfort the normally stoic anthropologist that now stood crying in his embrace./

"Bones... You're human. You have emotions... I think you're just more in touch with them at the moment," he said as convincingly as possible the moment he thought of it.

"Yes... at the moment." She pushed away from him, her hand immediately reaching up to run through her hair. "Why is it that I only feel them this strongly when you're around?" He went to speak, but she held up a hand to cut him off. "It's illogical. You're no different than any other person I interact with on a daily basis. Why am I prone to let my emotions get the better of me with only you?"

Waiting a beat to see if this question was rhetorical as well, he was greeted with a thick silence. Clearing his throat to give himself a moment to contemplate, he began with, "First of all, emotions are never 'logical', so you don't have to worry about that." She gave him a quick glare before returning her gaze to the pattern on the hallway carpet. "Second of all, I'm not about to have this discussion in your hallway. Can we go inside?"

"OK." Taking a deep breath, Booth mentally shook his head clear of any distractions. He was going to talk about this with her if it killed him.

_You made the moment yourself, Seeley. Do _not _fuck it up._


	14. Chapter 14

_**Alright, you guys. I've worked my butt off to finish this chapter, and I REALLY hope you guys likes it. Tell me what you think if you feel so inclined. I'm extremely grateful to all who have reviewed so far, and my plan is for the next chapter to be the last. I really hope you guys have enjoyed this story for what it was. And I can't BELIEVE I'm actually going to finish a chapter story! Thanks again for reading! Enjoy!**_

* * *

The couch was unusually hard to adjust to, and Booth was starting to become worried that this wasn't going to go well. He was desperate to say the right thing, but nothing seemed to be coming to him.

He was positive that she understood how he felt about her. What he couldn't formulate in his mind was a plan to help her realize that there was the possibility that she felt the same way about him. So he simply stared out into the expanse of her apartment and waited for something… anything that could convince her.

She reentered the room, two shallow glasses gripped between milky white fingers. The amber liquid contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, hypnotizing him into a state of clarity that he never thought possible. She held out the glass to him, and he took the proffered drink with a hidden urgency.

Taking a quick sip for luck, he placed the glass on the coffee table with an imperceptibly shaking hand. "Before I say anything, you have to promise that you're going to be open minded, OK?"

"OK," she agreed reluctantly, meeting his gaze soon after.

"You want to know why you're only emotional when I'm around." She nodded, her eyes silently begging him to hurry up. "Well, I can't answer that with the accuracy that you clearly want, but that's only because it's your question to answer, Temperance."

She creased her eyebrows as he silenced."Why do you do that?" she asked, eliciting a dumbfounded-Sweets expression from him.

"Huh? Do what?" he asked, stumbling through the questions like a buffoon.

"You called me 'Temperance'. Why?"

"It's your name, isn't it?" He felt as if he were back in school, being scolded by one of the nuns for calling her 'Dude'.

"Yes, Booth. But normally you call me 'Bones'. It's only under special circumstances that you refer to me by my given name."

"What do you mean, 'special circumstances'?"

"Like this afternoon. You used my name then, too. It's only under extreme emotional conditions that you…" she faded, her eyes taking on a glimmer of realization. She stared at him incredulously, a frown tugging the corners of her mouth toward her chin.

"What is it?" She only continued to stare at him, and he became increasingly worried that she was on the verge of a breakdown.

"It's not… It can't be… can it?" She shook her head in a motion of denial, her hair swaying on her back delicately. "It's not possible… it's been years since… no…" She stopped dead in her tracks, letting her hair hide her face as she hung her head.

"You're starting to freak me out, Bones." His heart rate bordering on hummingbird, Booth watched as her head shot up, and she spun a quarter turn to look at him. Her eyes were now fully glowing with her mysterious epiphany, and her mouth was slightly agape. But what he saw when he looked deeper into her eyes was enough to make his heart rate slip past hummingbird to nearly explosive speeds.

And with that, he started laughing uncontrollably. He had not a single clue as to what was causing his sudden fit, but no will of his own was going to stop it.

But the glare from his partner wasn't exactly _his_ will.

His eyes widened to the point where they could fall straight out of their sockets (though he could think of a million different ways Bones would discount that claim). As he stared at her, embarrassed and worried that she would kill him, all he could think was, _That, Seeley, is considered fucking it up!_

"What? Is my confusion amusing you, Booth?"

Smirking, he said, "Yeah, kinda."

"And you say I'm the pain in the ass," she murmured, unable to avoid the sudden meeting of their gazes.

"Well, that's because you are," he replied, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of this argument. "Listen, Bones. Can we get back to our original conversation?" She nodded, and the scowl she had been offering now softening into a slight frown. "Now what were you confused about in the first place?"

She stiffened, her eyes suddenly devoid of anything remotely emotional. "Nothing."

"I'm calling bull shit," he said with the impatience he normally reserved for suspects or witnesses who refused to cooperate during questioning.

She lifted a confused eyebrow. "I don't…"

"… know what that means. Not the time." He took a deep breath, exasperation seeping from his pores. "I love you." He watched her eyes form full circles, and he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his lips. "I can't believe you're surprised. I thought I made that clear during out little chat in your office this afternoon.

"But that's not what's in question here. My theory is that you're confused about your feelings… for me." He stood from the couch, standing directly in front of her. When she tried to turn her face away from him, he used the tip of his index finger to guide her gaze back to his.

And she met his eyes with zero hesitation.

"How _do_ you feel, you know… about me?" She flicked her eyes from side to side, trying to avoid his question fervently. "Temperance?"

She brought her eyes back to his with the use of her first name. They were pleading with him to let it go, something he was finally refusing to do. The tears had come, and they slid smoothly down her porcelain skin. With his finger still resting under her chin, he used his thumb to wipe away the tears threatening to stain the carpet.

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotions that flitted in her silver eyes. "I haven't… I haven't allowed myself to feel this strongly about someone since Josh." She breathed in sharply before continuing. "I can't handle losing anyone else. I just… can't."

"You won't. I'm always going to be here. Where else would I go?"

"You can't seriously expect me to believe that you won't be killed. You've been shot, blown up, and beaten, Booth! Your job can easily be what ends your life."

"Yeah, but I've survived it, haven't I? I promised myself I'd protect you, whether you wanted me to or not. That requires me to be alive. I'll make sure I stay that way as long as you're living."

"There's no possible way you can make that pro–"

Placing a finger over her lips, he said, "Would you just trust me?"

Rolling her eyes, she nodded in mock agreement. Removing his finger from her lips, he slipped his hand to the back of her neck and leaned in slowly, giving her all the chances in the world to back out. Before he knew what was even happening, however, their lips were dancing in a fiery tango, and she was taking the lead. Intent on reclaiming it, he slipped his free hand to her back and pulled her body to his, breaking their mouths apart to spread slow kisses along her jaw line.

As his lips pressed a tender kiss to the spot just below her ear, he whispered, "Do you trust me?"

She pulled back to stare him in the eyes and said, "More than you know."

With a wide grin, he brought his mouth back to hers, the heat flowing between them ten times greater than anything he had felt with any other woman. So when his cell phone rang, he was ready to toss it across the room in frustration.

He separated from her reluctantly and stared menacingly at the interrupting apparatus in his hand. Seeing Angela's name on the screen changed the angry frown into a fearful one. When she told him that Carmine was awake, but the doctors would need to do more surgery, he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or afraid.

When he told Bones, she explained the risks of bypass surgery and how likely it would be for Carmine to survive and fully recover. It was her explanations that gave him his answer.

All he could do was pray for Carmine Robustelli, and that's exactly what he would do.


	15. Chapter 15 Epilogue

_**Alright, guys. This is it! The final chapter in this story! I totally enjoyed writing this story, and I'm really grateful to all who reviewed and told me what they thought. Thanks for sticking around for the fifteen chapters of epic Booth/Brennan angst or whatever the hell you wanna call it. I have not a clue! I really hope the case was worth reading, and that my research and time sweating over details paid off. Enjoy this final bit of Opportunities, and stick around, because more Bones may be to come in a new fic... but not for awhile, I imagine. Goodbye, and ENJOY!  
**_

* * *

As Seeley Booth entered the Holy Trinity Catholic Church, his first thought was that it was morbidly beautiful. Black ribbons laced the front pews, an elegant touch to an otherwise bland wooden fixture. Roselyn sat in the pew, a scarlet handkerchief raised to her eyes in a failed attempt to catch the flowing tears. Greg had his arm draped around her, using his free hand to comfortingly stroke her arm. They each wore black, as expected, but both had some form of dark red added to their outfits. Greg's adornment was his dress shirt, which was a deep blood red.

And as Booth continued to survey his surroundings, he realized that scarlet and black were overwhelming the centuries old furnishings of the church. He twirled the dark red rose between his fingers, finally able to understand the unusual darkness of the flower. Approaching the casket, another wave of understanding flashed over him as he saw the dress on it. A scarlet dress with black lace trim lay flat and formless, unable to hug the curves of its former owner in death as it had in life.

Placing the rose upon the dress as dozens had already, Booth turned from the casket, a kamikaze tear sliding down his cheek. He noticed that during his placement, Carmine had rejoined his wife at the pew. He was crying openly, preventing Booth from swatting away the tear that was now approaching his chin.

"Hello, Carmine," he said as he walked up to the trio. "How are you feeling?"

"Health wise? _Approvazione_." A hitch in his breathing disobeyed his attempts at composing himself, so he just full out cried for a moment before continuing. "In this situation? _Molto cattivo_."

"I'm truly sorry for your loss."

Unexpectedly, Roselyn stood and wrapped her arms around Booth. "Agent Booth –"

"Please, call me Seeley."

"Seeley… that's a lovely name." She sniffled, then said, "You've been a wonderful force in our lives these past few weeks. You gave us closure in the disappearance of our daughter. Whether you believe it or not, we're grateful for you. The pain of not knowing what happened to our baby girl was infinitely worse than finding out she passed." She kissed his cheek in a motherly gesture, a smile on her face as she pulled back. The tears still flowed, but she seemed genuine in her admission. "I don't think we could thank you enough for what you've given us."

He spotted Bones entering the church, an awkward tinge to her gait. She looked around with an unsure look in her eyes, and he continued to stare, waiting for her to see him. They locked eyes, and suddenly she was confident in her stance, and she walked in long strides. Zack entered behind her, followed quickly by Angela and Hodgins.

The two latter Squints approached the casket immediately, but the former looked at their flowers in confusion until they had a lead to follow. Placing her flower on the casket, Bones immediately turned away, a single tear track on her right cheek.

As she approached him, Booth turned back to Carmine and Roselyn. "If there's anyone you should be thanking, it's this woman right here." They looked at him, slightly confused, but he elaborated, "If it hadn't been for her, we would never have identified your daughter beyond Angela's recognition of her sketch."

"Booth," Bones said, and he noticed a blush creeping into her cheeks, "it wasn't entirely me. It was the efforts of each of my team members that solved this case, and identified Janelle. I… I just led them in the investigation."

"Don't be modest, and just play along, OK?" he whispered in her ear softly. She gave him a questioning look before nodding in agreement. But before he could discount anything she had just said, he was staring into the knowing gaze of Roselyn Robustelli. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the priest enter the church through a door off to the side of the room. Grabbing Bones by the elbow, he pulled her gently in the direction of an empty pew. They sat, listening to the words of a man who had taught the word of God to a once young and alive Janelle Robustelli. Only now he was asking God to lift her spirit to heaven, and protect her in the here-after.

As he held Bones's hand, he squeezed it every so often when she scoffed at something the man said, which earned her glares from the patrons who didn't know her like he did. He couldn't care less about her disbelief in God, but he knew others did.

What he did care about was her, and though she didn't care what others thought about her, he did. He loved her, and now that they were together, he was going to protect her in every possible way he could. And when they went home after this service, they would talk again, continue to work on the small details of their relationship, even if it took forever.

Because forever was what he was willing to give for her.

Fin


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